


even though it was wrong

by Blownwish



Series: please please please let me get what I want this time [15]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, M/M, Pliroy, Underage Yuri, peripheral jjbella, peripheral otayuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: Jean-Jacques doesn't care if it's wrong. He's still going to do it, and Yuri is going to let him.





	even though it was wrong

**Author's Note:**

> More of that thing I do: porn with angst sprinkled on top. Same old tricks I've used before are in this box. Don't get your hopes up.

He was too young. Way, way too young. Not even sixteen? Oh, sweet Mother of God! And he was too beautiful, more beautiful than any girl, with trembling wet lips, a luscious body and a ripe pink dick just made for temptation.

“Jeh Jeh…” He was panting. He was running his hands through his own hair, moaning as it cascaded around his shoulders and then he whipped it back and then - then he started to move. No - bounce. Jean-Jacques grabbed that tight sweet ass as tight, tight heat - oh, God! Oh, God! “Jeh-Jeh… touch me!”

He took his hand and licked. He took his hand and put it there. He took his hand and fucked into it and _bounced and bounced and bounced_. “That's it, baby. That's my baby boy. Come for me.”

He sobbed and it was the most beautiful thing: Yuri Plisetsky popped like a firecracker, all over Jean-Jacques’ knuckles. And it wasn't nearly enough. He had to have more. So much more of this wild, beautiful boy.

He flipped him over, hooked those ankles over his shoulders and slammed the bedpost against the wall as Yuri kept sobbing. He was so tight. So beautiful. Jean-Jacques rubbed his finger across his gasping lips and let him taste himself, like Communion. Let him know there was more when he leaned down and kissed him, tasted it with him. This was good, this was so good. Too good. No, it was actually _bad_. Jean-Jacques pumped himself deep inside, so deep he was sure he'd never be able to come out the same way, and - Yuri kissed him back as he _came_.

++

Yuri Plisetsky was his. He didn't have to touch him. He didn't even have to tell him. He moment they saw each other, at that first practice in Skate Canada, when he saw that spitfire glare on an angel’s face, Jean-Jacques knew it as sure as he knew there was a God. Oh, he had such a body! Such a smooth, slinky sexy body. Jean-Jacques had seen plenty of beautiful bodies before, but nothing quite like this flush, pink, delicious body trembling on the edge of manhood. He salivated when he saw him in the locker room and that angry glare caught him.

He smiled right back. “What's new, pussycat?”

Those plush lips, oh Sweet Virgin Mother! They opened and he gasped and Jean-Jacques could imagine them wrapped around his dick. And his eyes! They were so wide, as if he didn't know what he did to a man when he looked the way he looked: like sin. The very best kind of sin, the kind Jean-Jacques prayed for. And then he sneered. “What the hell are you? Some kind of pervert?”

“Why? Do you want me to be?” Jean-Jacques backed him up against the tiles and leaned in.

He could see him shiver. It was amazing. And his face was close, so close and Jean-Jacques could smell the blue bubble gum in his mouth. “Not in a million years.”

“Liar.”

++

He rolls him over. Yuri whimpers as he combs back that fine blonde hair and nuzzles his neck. “Did you think that was all? Really?” He works his way down, licking and nipping and smiling as Yuri's breath hitches. “Not by a long shot, baby boy.” He props him up and takes a long, slow lick all the way from his upper thigh, right over that beautiful ass cheek. Then he nips it. Yuri tries to look, but Jean-Jacques pushes his head back down in the pillow and bites. He's not rough - it's not enough to break the skin - but it's a warning. “No peeking.” Then he sucks the skin. He wants to brand him. “You're mine. All mine.” He pulls those cheeks apart. His come is dribbling out of his sweet, red hole and Jean-Jacques knows what he has to do.

Yuri must be cursing in Russian. But it changes into sobs as he pushes his ass against Jean-Jacques’ face. He likes it, a lot. And so does Jean-Jacques. His come tastes great all over Yuri Plisetsky. And he's going to show him.

He turns him back around and sits him on his lap. Pushes his finger into those raw pink lips and passes the come to him, tongue to tongue. He thinks about Communion again, when he does it.

Oh, God. That's bad. Jean-Jacques groans as Yuri grabs his hand and shoves it between his legs. He’s already hard and ready for more. “That was so fucked up.”

Jean-Jacques doesn't answer. He just slides to the carpet and sucks him off.

++

He never made any sort of contact with Yuri Plisetsky after Skate Canada. But he thought about him every time he was alone in his own thoughts. Every time he came back to his apartment after practice and shut the door to his bathroom. Every time he took down his pants and touched himself the way Father Dubois said a man should never touch himself.

It felt nearly as good as Yuri's hand. He closed his eyes and remembered knocking on his restroom stall. How it creaked open. How his blush was almost as red as the paint as he let Jean-Jacques in. And it stayed red as he pulled down his own pants and showed him how hard he was. Then Jean-Jacques showed him how hard _he_ was. “You know how to do this,” Jean-Jacques whispered as he put his trembling hand on his dick. _”Crisse! Harder! Like this!”_ And he showed him that, too.

He was going to see him again, soon. He didn't need to text him or talk to him because they both knew what would happen in Moscow. The boy knew who he belonged to.

It was wrong, and Jean-Jacques should have been ashamed of himself. He checked his messages before he crossed himself and laid down on his twin mattress. Isabella had texted him to wish him sweet dreams. He should have been deeply ashamed because God could see everything.

He was not.

++

Yuri is biting his lip as Jean-Jacques takes him all the way down his throat, sucking hard as he looks up into those big _blue-green_ eyes. He reaches up and pushes his finger into his mouth, instead. Pushes it in and out so the boy can suck as he sucks. Oh, his dick is perfect. It was made to be sucked, just like this boy was made to be fucked.

He was good out there, tonight. A real prima ballerina. The way this kid worked the ice made Jean-Jacques get a real hardon for competition - a rare thing. But he didn't stand a chance, even if it was the kid’s home turf. Not against King JJ, and not against Jean-Jacques once the dust settled and Yuri came knocking on his door.

They both knew it was going to happen, both Jean-Jacques’ gold and everything afterward. His clothes fell like petals as he pulled the most adorable angry faces. Then the face changed once Jean-Jacques took his chin and tasted his mouth.

He was, he _is_ so sweet, no matter how hard he tries to be tough. And only Jean-Jacques gets to see him like this. He's his, only his. And he's going to keep him. Yes, it's so wrong. He's got a girlfriend and she probably wants to marry him and she's as pure as the driven snow, but he can't even bring himself to care when he's sucking off his dirty boy.

God, he's hard again. He pulls him on his lap and Yuri knows what to do, already. He lubes Jean-Jacques up while he presses breathy kisses against his lips and then -

“Fuck me, _Jeh Jeh_.”

He groans as Yuri sinks down on his dick. Slowly. “Call me Jean-Jacques.” He's not JJ, here.

“Whatever.”

++

Barcelona had a strange chill, as if Otabek brought it on his motorcycle. Isabella wore his ring and Yuri wore the gold. Jean-Jacques put his first bronze in a box he would never open again and stepped out of the hotel, alone.

And there they were, walking down the busy sidewalk; lights illuminating their way as Otabek watched Yuri smile, just for him. Jean-Jacques never saw him smile like that. Never.

“Looking for me?”

Jean-Jacques turned and there she was, the future. Isabella took his hand, the one with the ring, and kissed it. “Yeah.”

She swung their linked hands between them. “Liar.”

“Yeah, I'm terrible. A terrible liar.”

She saw them, and bit her lip. “Wanna go for a walk?”

He shook his head _no_ , with a grin. “Yeah.” That made her laugh. Good. Laughing was good.

“What am I going to do with you?” They started walking on the other side of the street. Away from them. Jean-Jacques tried not to wonder if Yuri noticed. It was just as well if he didn't.

++

Yuri's face, right before he comes, reminds him of the portrait of Saint Sebastian, just as he's been shot full of arrows. It's the purest ecstasy, and Jean-Jacques knows it's blasphemy but he _worships_ this, cups it in his hands and moans as Yuri gasps and shows him something like heaven as he opens his eyes and stares as he is about to come. “Jeh-Jeh! Ah! Fuck! Jean-Jahh -ah-ah...” He's holding back, trying to stay in that moment right before the fall and he's so beautifully desperate to stay there even though they both know he can't.

“God, I shouldn't even be doing this to you.” But he won't stop for anything. He never wants to stop. He wants to keep him like this forever; even though it is as impossible as holding off an orgasm. As impossible as holding off the judgement of God. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this. But him. His beautiful Yuri. Jean-Jacques fists his dick and Yuri wails as he pounds into him as hard as he possibly can.

 _”Ya lyublyu tebya!_ ”

++

“So what did you say to me? When you spoke Russian?”

He was dressed and he was ready to leave Jean-Jacques. He just stood there, shifting from one foot to the next as if his sneakers were stuck to the carpet. “It doesn't matter.”

“It must've been something you wanted me to ask about.” Jean-Jacques pulled his sweatpants on and padded off to the sink. Threw water on his face and blinked at his reflection. “It's okay. It doesn't matter if you're not going to tell me.”

The pause was long. Too long. Then there was a huff, the smallest little huff. And then a voice that was too big for such a small body: “I'm going to beat you at the Grand Prix!”

He wiped his face dry and stood up straight. He tried to smile but somehow it felt too tight. Like it would break. “You know words don't make things happen.”

“Yeah. I'm painfully aware.” And then the door slammed.

Jean-Jacques picked up his phone and started thumb typing. He wasn't messaging anyone, he certainly wasn't messaging _him_ , he didn't even have his number. He was just typing. Then he put the phone down and bowed his head.

_”Je t'aime aussi.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Ya lyublyu tebya! -- I love you 
> 
> Je t'aime aussi. -- I love you, too
> 
> I warned you, same old tricks.


End file.
